His headshake was half nod. “Technically they’re here to track evidence of Russian spies, same as I am. But they could claim just about any research in support of that goal—same as we have, frankly.” He sighed. “The fact is, there are people at the agency who see us both as mavericks. Mr. Barlow with his mystical mathematical theories, and that crazy Jew Spector who works with crazy people.” He shrugged apology. “We could both end up on short leashes at a moment’s notice, if someone takes it into their head—and we both have supervisors who’ll go to the mat for our gambles.”
Somehow, in spite of my doubts, I’d hoped that Spector represented some fundamental improvement in the state’s attitude toward us. Clearly that was what he wished to be. Barlow, if I were lucky, merely saw me as a relic of an outdated tradition. But Peters seemed sympathetic to older opinions. Other factions might back him in that.
“I don’t blame you for being upset,” said Spector. “But you look like you’re thinking about something else.”
Gambles indeed. “Suppose we were to rebuild Innsmouth.”
His lips parted. “Is that possible?”
“As what it was before, no. As a place for those with even a little of our blood to come together … we might be able to make something new. But not if we’d risk another raid.”
“Aphra, no, I promise it’s not like that. We may have our debates, but no one wants to go back to the persecution of the ’20s. No one’s even talking about that.”
“For how long?”
He pulled out a cigarette, flicked his lighter, inhaled acrid smoke. “How many generations do you expect me to speak for? For all I know, the country could turn around in ten years and decide to lock up all the Jews. We run or fight when we have to, and we rebuild in between. Works a lot better than the alternative.”
I hesitated. “Skinner was suspicious as soon as he met us, and he isn’t the only one who still remembers the old libels. Peters all but accused us of sharing magical secrets with the enemy.”
He frowned. “Peters is a twit. When?”
“In the library. After he tried and failed to get that book.” A gust of wind blew smoke across my face. I turned my head and coughed, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I’ve learned to take it seriously when people threaten me. But I don’t know whether he was trying to stir something up, or if he just said what the rest of them were already thinking. I need to know how much Innsmouth would scare them. If it existed.” The wind changed again, and I took a grateful breath.
“We really have … the raids, everyone’s clear on what a bad idea they were. Some on purely practical grounds, because most of the actual nasty cultists went to ground and didn’t get caught, and some because they’ve genuinely realized it was evil. But…” It was his turn to hesitate. “You remember what I said about Israel. And how my superiors reacted.”
“Yes.” His people had lost their own home—and were now fighting to remake it. Seeing that in common between us, I gave in to a question that hadn’t occurred to me when he first brought it up. “I hope you won’t take this as some sort of accusation, but why don’t you go? My people—Innsmouth was bad enough, but if R’lyeh and the outpost cities had been destroyed too, and then rebuilt, I’d want to go home.”
He shook his head. “Israel is building on a myth. I’m not against myths, and I’m glad it’s there, but the home of my people is New York—a place that wanted us and took us in and where we can live in safety. I’m American, even if some people don’t want to think of me that way. Like I said, we build where we are, even if it might not be safe forever.”
“I can understand that.” And appreciate his bravery, even while I tried to decide whether I could—or should—share it. “They weren’t afraid of you as an individual, but they got scared when you had a place to go.”
“Better than the alternative.” He sighed. “Peters is a twit, like I said. Whatever his suspicions, I think he brought them up to keep you worried about yourself, instead of about whatever he was trying to do—because that was almost certainly on orders.”
I felt my lips quirk. “It didn’t work—I’ve had plenty of room to worry about both.”
He took the cigarette from his mouth, examined the spark at the tip. “You know, if Barlow’s playing fast and loose, it’s not our supervisors finding out that he worries about. Their reaction could go either way, and he’s dealt with it before. But he has to be careful about the university administration and professors. They can’t just kick him out, but they could make his life very uncomfortable if they learned things he didn’t want brought to public attention. The agency might rein him in to keep them quiet.”
He watched me expectantly over his little fire, and I wished again for Audrey’s skill at reading people. “I assume he guards those secrets carefully.”
“Yes—though I don’t know much about what kind of, ah, non-traditional security Barlow uses in the field. I do know that last time he went after a budget increase he wanted to demonstrate the efficiency of ‘recursive exponent wards’ or some such. You saw more of his methods this weekend than I did.” Another apologetic shrug, another drag on his cigarette.
I blinked over eyes that felt suddenly dry, doubtful of what I thought I heard. Was he really implying that I ought to play spy against his colleague? “I told you before that I don’t like ciphers.”
“I apologize,” he said. “They’re the best I can offer right now. But you should trust your own judgment on the answers—I do, or I wouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”
The door opened, and Charlie joined us on the porch. He pulled out his pipe, accepted Spector’s offered light. “The professor apparently doesn’t want us smoking inside. Sorry, Aphra—it’s just been a hell of a week.”
“And seems likely to continue hellish,” agreed Spector. “I’m sorry, Miss Marsh, I didn’t realize you were so old-fashioned.”
“It’s not a problem outside,” I said. I didn’t want to mention how even a whiff of the smoke sometimes set my lungs aflame. It was probably only my own fears and memories, given that Caleb didn’t seem to suffer from his own cigarettes.
Still, I excused myself. The two of them might appreciate the time alone, and I wanted to find out what Trumbull knew about recursive exponent wards.
Inside, I realized that Dawson might need deniability as much as Spector did. Perhaps he’d find an excuse to pull her away. I took Audrey aside into the living room, hoping that Caleb might catch hints of our discussion and make his own judgments about what his lover would wish to know.
“It sure sounds like he wants us to check up on Barlow’s guys,” she said when I’d finished telling her about my conversation with Spector. “The question is whether we want to.”
“I’d certainly like to know what they’re planning,” I said. “If we can learn something that will force them to leave campus, so much the better.”
“You know I’m not afraid of a little trouble. But this is riskier than our raid on the library. There could be real legal consequences if we got caught—or a bunch of mad FBI agents if they figure out who ratted on them.”
“I know what it is to be on the state’s bad side,” I told her. “They don’t wait for provocation.”